• Before I had time to even comprehend what I had just read there came a loud rapping at my door. My closet door.

    Trying very hard not to think of Poe, I quickly set down the diary and started towards the source of the noise. Probably just a neighborhood stray that had snuck in for warmth. But, then why did I feel so scared?

    Halfway between my bed and my closet another knock sounded. Only this time it was louder; far too loud for any ordinary cat.

    At this point I probably should have just sprinted downstairs and rung the police, but if you've ever seen a horror movie you know that the police never get there in time. So, ignoring the even more vital movie rule to never go towards the creepy noise, I placed my sweaty palms on the door handle and pulled as hard as I could.

    In the past 30 seconds I'd had plenty of time to wonder what evil resided in my closet, but never in a million years would I have guessed what stood before me.

    A teenage boy.

    A tall, skinny, particularly dumb looking teenage boy.

    "Who the hell are you?!" I demanded .

    The boy just stood there gasping for air like a fish out of water and clenching his pale brow with an equally whitish hand.

    Well, I could cross serial killer off my list; lunatic seemed more appropriate.

    "Sorry," he apologized cordially, "I'm terribly claustrophobic."

    "Then why on earth were you hiding in my closet?"

    Great; I couldn't even get a smart stalker.

    "I wasn't hiding, I was waiting."

    "In my closet?" I asked, raising my eyebrows in suspicion.

    He shrugged.

    "I'm a secret; where else am I supposed to wait."

    "Okay..." I replied, pretending like that actually made sense, "and who were you waiting for?"

    "You of course. I am your secret after all," he explained, grinning like I had just asked the stupidest question in creation.

    Stalker, definitely.

    "Look, I'm flattered. But my mother's going to be home soon, and if you don't climb back out the window right now I'll call the police."

    The boy frowned.

    "Your mother? I thought you lived with your aunt."

    I stopped sliding open the window.

    "How did you know that?"

    "There's lots of things I shouldn't know my little Red Haired Queen," he replied as he leapt out the window, "and lots of things I do."